


In The Beginning - Good Omens Celebration Minific - Day 1

by done-with-ur-ineffable-bullshit (Gotta_Get_That_PMA)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Crowley's Fall (Good Omens), Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:06:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23954299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gotta_Get_That_PMA/pseuds/done-with-ur-ineffable-bullshit
Summary: Crowley has a nightmare...
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25
Collections: Good Omens Celebration





	In The Beginning - Good Omens Celebration Minific - Day 1

The Beginning, for humans, had happened at Eden. There was an apple, and a serpent, and the rest, as they say, was history. For angels and demons, however, the beginning was much, much earlier. And much darker.

A storm was rolling in over London. Thunder barreled across the sky like a cannon ball across a ship's deck, and Crowley slept fitfully in his satin-lined bed. He was dreaming--well, remembering--and his dreams were not pleasant.

It was the true Beginning. The angels had just been created. Crowley stood before the throne, clad in white. It was the only time he recalled seeing God. The memory of what She looked like had been erased from his mind in the fall. "Go forth, my child," The Almighty said, in a voice that embodied pure love, "Soon, we shall build something far greater than ourselves."

The scene changed, and Crowley stood among the stars. With a paintbrush, he speckled little points of light on a nebula. It was his favorite. A trumpet signalled a meeting called by the Archangels. He put down his tools and couldn't help but feel an immense satisfaction, his heart full of love for this new universe.

Again, a new scene. This time, Lucifer, the most beautiful of the angels, smiled at Crowley. The effect was enchanting. Perhaps, Crowley thought, Lucifer had a point. There were holes in the Great Plan. He would go and ask The Almighty.

There was a war. A Revolution, Lucifer had called it. There was nothing glorious about it, though. Standing in the middle of a crowded battlefield, his sword clean, Crowley gazed with horror at what he had helped bring about. These were his friends. His brothers and sisters. He stumbled away from the fighting, into an alleyway, only to nearly trip over someone. The angel lying on the ground was in the white shirt and cream tartan kilt of the Holy Side. His shirt was stained with blood, and a quick glance confirmed the blood was his own. He was weeping. Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, Crowley crouched beside the wounded angel and covered the wound with his hand.

A moment later, the blood was gone and the angel had stifled his sobs. "Oh," he sniffled, "Thank you! May the Almighty have mercy on you for this."

She didn't. In the next scene, Crowley was falling. His wings were useless, clipped so close he had nothing with which to catch the wind. Below loomed a boiling lake of fire, and the air around him was growing hotter with every passing meter. Crowley panicked and began to flail, and just as his sobs turned into screams he hit the lake of fire--

Crowley's eyes opened. He was back in his London flat. Tear tracks led from his eyes into his hair and his mouth was dry. The flat was pitch dark, meaning the power must have gone out in the storm. He couldn't feel his arms, but he was sure his heart would break if he moved, anyway. He started to cry again, hot tears that flowed unbidden from his eyes.  
There was a rustling somewhere in the room, and a soft light began to glow from nowhere in particular. Aziraphale seated himself on the edge of Crowley's bed and stroked his hair tenderly. "Bad dreams again, my dear?"

Crowley quickly wiped his eyes and sat up on his pillows, nodding. In spite of his attempt to compose himself, as soon as he opened his mouth to speak, the tears returned in full force. "It wasn't my fault, Angel!" He sobbed, "I just asked questions. I didn't mean any harm! I didn't even fight in the war…" he trailed off weakly. He knew it didn't matter. God would never forgive him.

Aziraphale pulled Crowley into his arms, resting the demon's head against his soft shoulder. "I know, dear. I know."

A few minutes passed in silence as Crowley recovered. Eventually, Aziraphale squeezed him gently and spoke, "Here now, how about I make us some tea and biscuits? I could tell you an interesting story about when I was wounded in the Great War."

Crowley nuzzled into his neck and nodded assent to this plan. God may never forgive him, but what did She matter anyway? She hadn't spoken to anyone in millennia. Besides, if anyone had a murky track record on Doing the Right Thing, it was The Almighty. No, the only one whose forgiveness mattered was right here, holding him. As long as he had Aziraphale, Crowley would be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please leave a comment if you have any suggestions or just wanna tell me what you think. Also, Happy Good Omens Day!


End file.
